I Need Help
by Elphena Lewis
Summary: This is a tough thing to do, but admitting you need help is the first step to progress.


**A/N: Alrighty, so I understand this is nothing related to my currently open stories or any of my previous works, except for a connection to Forever and Eight Years. I am also aware of how 'true-to-reality' this may not be. However, I have never been in the situation and therefore can only imagine. Feedback is greatly appreciated.**

"All my life, I've lived here in the city. My dad, he is a great guy. But he had to raise me by himself. My mom died when I was seven months old. He did a hell of a job, too. He was a working, single parent. No easy feat if you ask me."

The group around the room listened intently but with solemn expressions. Taking a deep, shaky breath, she continued with her story, albeit avoiding any and all eye contact.

"Growing up, I was a good child. I was a cute little Daddy's girl. Dad devoted his life to me. He never wanted to date. I think he just loved my mom too much 'cause everywhere we went, there were woman always eyeing him appreciatively. When I was nine, he actually asked me if I was okay with him dating. Naturally, I was, but he never dated regardless."

Again, she took a pause in her narrative. She chanced a glance up at the faces around her and found them to be less harsh that she was used to. The solemn faces were no longer cruelly pitying but mercifully blank. To an outsider, the faces would seem to be uninterested but to one of the group, the faces were meant to cause comfort rather than nervousness. And again, she continued.

"Anywho, as I was growing up, the more I was understanding. I never knew my mother. As a little girl, I could never miss her because I never knew her enough to know what I would miss about her. Yet as a teenager, I understood just how much I had actually lost and how much I could truly miss. My dad kept working crazy hours. When I was a young adult, there were cutbacks at the lab where my dad worked. We had to move and I had to start again in a high school in a not so nice part of the city. My dad had a lot of friends who were willing to help out, but he had a lot of pride and wasn't willing to admit he couldn't support his family on his own as he had in years past. I resented him for it. The move drove a wedge between my father and I. the closeness we had seemed to dissipate quickly."

This time, when she took a break, she didn't need to compose herself. No longer was she speaking while thinking of the parts of the story yet to be revealed. Now she was on a roll.

"At the same time I was pulling away from my dad, I fell into the wrong crowd at school. Most of the kids I called my friends were into drugs. Pot was never good enough, though. These kids had connections to some of the best crack in the city. Never, not even once, did I even touch drugs. My mom was killed by a drug dealer so I was never going to be a part of that world. Instead, I brought my own fun. A bottle of JD would get me through an all-night party with a bunch of high kids."

When she first started coming, she never would've admitted that telling her story to a bunch of strangers would feel this good. But now, in the moment, she would whole-heartedly admit she felt so much better.

"I think my dad knew; he would ground me for little reason just in hopes I'd stay home and out of trouble. But by this point, I didn't care. I still resented him for relocating my life and picking up more shifts to make ends meet. He was around less and I resented him for that too. I would sneak out, get drunk, and pass out in some sleazy hotel only to wake the next day and walk into our apartment hung-over. By the end of my senior year in high school, I thought I had everything under control. I had already been accepted to the Police Academy so my grades could suffer, for all I cared. I suddenly became okay with straight C's."

After she had graduated high school, she began living two lives. At once, she was drinking like no tomorrow. On the other hand, she was acing her way through the Academy. The only reason she did much better in the Academy than in high school was because of her background with the cops and her instinct.

"I led two lives. I graduated the Academy fifth in my class on instinct and previous knowledge alone. I probably could've made first had I not gone and gotten wasted every other night. The nights I didn't go out, I'd stay at home at my apartment and drink on my own. I couldn't make it through the day without a few drinks. My bosses didn't know it but my lunch hour would be an excuse to have a drink or two. I just got so good at hiding my 'tipsy' condition that no one noticed. I was never a mean drunk though, just a severely drunk drunk. My dad noticed though. I started working with him though we didn't have the same job. I'm a homicide detective like my Uncle Flack and dad's a CSI. He could tell I wasn't taking care of myself."

Even now, she regretted some of the decisions she had made in her life. She just wished that some of the things she had done, she could take back. Instead, she could only apologize for the past and prevent for the future.

"I thought I had it all under control. Sure I couldn't always pay the rent on my apartment because I needed a new bottle of something, but I had moved out. I had a good job that I was good at. I thought I could handle it all. I was wrong, obviously."

Pause, short pause. She just wanted to get this over with by now.

"I was out with a friend one night. We went to a bar and I quickly drank too much. I had met him right from work. The bar was in a sketchy area; I lived in a sketchy area. He drank, too, but not nearly as much. Around three in the morning, we were kicked out of the bar. We started a three block trek to my place. Three blocks, we only had to make it three blocks. A guy jumped out of the alley next to use and cracked Len on the head. He was out cold immediately. The guy went for a knife, I saw the blade shimmer, form his belt loop and went to finish Len. I had my piece, I was a cop, and my friend was down. I was supposed to be defending him. I pulled my gun from by bag and aimed to shoot. I was drunk, very drunk and my aim was very off. I pulled the trigger, thinking my shot was dead on. I heard the bang and the guy ran. I missed, I realized, but at least I scared him off. When I turned back to Len, my heart stopped. I may have missed the mugger, but I had hit Len. He was bleeding, and bleeding fast. Miraculously, I had enough sense to dial 911. My dad showed up as a CSI-responder."

Images of the events flashed through her mind and for a minute, she thought she was going to lose it. But she knew that she had to get this all out there in order to get better. She pressed on, determined.

"He didn't know I was involved, just that there was a shooting involving and officer. When he stepped out of the car and saw me, my heart fell. His face dropped and I could see the disappointment radiating off of him. He could always tell I was drunk and he had always wanted me to get help before I got into real trouble. Now it was too late. I truthfully don't remember anything else from that night. I must've been too drunk to remember. That was two weeks ago. Len's still in a coma from the bullet I put into his heart. They got the bullet out in time, but it was still a rough shot. Immediately after, I tried to drown my guilt in booze. It didn't work and one day I woke up from a drunken sleep and decided I need help."

A final pause. For the first time, eye contact was made. The solemn looks did not change but the eyes conveyed connection. These people knew how she felt, how she was struggling, and how they could help. There was a silence in the small room; they were waiting for what would possibly come next. She had had enough courage to make eye contact by the end of her story so she had enough courage to say the next thing. Taking a deep breath, there was no turning back now, she hesitated slightly before saying:

"My name is Abby Messer, and I am an alcoholic."

**A/N: So there you have it. The lost child of the Messer's as mentioned in Forever and Eight Years. I was thinking of doing a series of stories and one-shots about the character Abby, so let me know what you all think. **


End file.
